


We're Finally Free (Please Stay With Me)

by ohmaggies (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, and instead runs away with harper, au where john doesn't go with jaha, but this is such trash, don't look at me, i just wanted harphy, this is just sad and romantic and leave me alone please
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ohmaggies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'There they were, in their kingdom of solace, watching old cartoons on a screen and kissing each other scars, washing in the salt of the ocean as if it might erase their sins; it never did, but they tried anyway.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Finally Free (Please Stay With Me)

The mark around his neck still itched on bad days and Harper’s hip still ached when it got too cold, blanket pulled up to her chest, teeth gritting as she winced again in pain.

“Made match in Heaven,” he retorted softly, ignoring the glare she shot at him, sitting on the floor by her head, hand reaching out to brush her hair from her eyes because God damn, she had made him soft.

A purr sounded in the back of her throat, one of her own hands snaking out of the blanket, the other clutching her waist, to touch the tips of her fingers along his forehead.

Harper groaned again, jerking ever so slightly. “Well, I like to think so,” she whispered back, a small grin capturing her lips as he knelt forward, meeting hers with his own, fingers tingling against the skin of her cheek.

If someone had told his a few weeks before that Harper, of all people, would follow him out of camp, help him escape, he would’ve laughed in their face, but there they were, in their kingdom of solace, watching old cartoons on a screen and kissing each other scars, washing in the salt of the ocean as if it might erase their sins; it never did, but they tried anyway.

“Get some rest,” he said, pulling back from her embrace to stare at her, at the glistening in her brown hues and her jaw tightened in pain, as if she was trying to play-off the ache in her hip as nothing more than a bruise.

It was more than physical pain, this was mental too, he wasn’t fool enough to not know that.

She had all but told him that a few months ago, almost three now, when she’d caught him trying to escape and her arms were folded over her chest, voice breaking as she managed to feebly whisper, “The bone marrow wasn’t the only thing I lost, Murphy, they took something else from me too.”

At first, he’d thought that the Mountain Men had touched her, in ways that made his stomach fold and toes curl inside his boots, so he watched her with curiosity, eyes just able to make her out in the dark.

He wanted to tell her to leave him alone, that he didn’t need her telling Bellamy that he was running away, but he didn’t because, well, he doesn’t know.

So, there they were, sneaking out of camp at the crack of dawn, sunlight streaming through her blonde hair as she reached forward to follow him out through the gate, out of the home they had built with bleeding hearts, tears welling in her eyes before she turned away.

And after that, she never looked back. Murphy noticed that.

Not _once_.

Even when they were halfway to wherever the hell they were they were going, she kept looking straight ahead and sometimes she looked sideways at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, but he knew. Because he looked at her too.

The first time she told him she loved him, they were huddled on a boat in the cold, shivering under the shine of the moon with purple lips and bruised legs, the rain pattering hard against their skin.

Harper had crawled over to him, hair flat against her, wired and wet, teeth chattering and breath warm against his face, hand finding his own under the mess of coats he had thrown over himself.

“John Murphy,” she whispered, voice harsh and quiet, cutting through the dull thud of too-loud rain. The seventeen year-old leant forward ever so slightly, lips pursed, moving forward to meet her mouth against the top of his forehead, letting them rest there warmly for a tenth of a second. She pulled back, pale cheeks coloured the tiniest shade of pink, moving back to stare at him through the haze of rain. “I love you.”

Two weeks of running away from the only home they had ever known other than the Ark and she was staring far too fondly at him and his heart was thudding dangerously against the inside of his chest, just about threatening to burst.

He said it back two months later, when she was cuddled up to his side, face in his neck, lips against the faintest tinge of his scar, muttering words against his feverish skin. If he was a sickness, she was his medicine, and he was happy with it staying like that, as long as she kept calling him John and kept making him feel not as terrible as everyone made him out to be.

The words just slipped out, he didn’t even think them through, just tightened his grip around her waist, careful not to touch the scars along her hips. Something was on the screen in-front of them, feet spread out on the table, resting there even though Harper had told him a thousand times not to do it, and his lips spread apart and—

“I love you.”

Somewhere in time, Murphy felt himself explode into a thousand supernovas, or maybe he melted into a puddle and the ground swallowed him up, but he just stared straight ahead, ignored the girl stirring in his lap, looking up at him with fluttered eyelashes.

“Murphy,” her voice called out, hand reaching to grab his chin, tilting it down.

His mouth opened to say something, anything, and take back the confession but her lips were pressing against his, hand moving to cup his cheek, moving about in his lap, body crushed to his.

Harper whispered something he couldn’t make out, the warmth of their bodies pressing together through thin layers of clothing left a shiver running down his back, shuddering into the kiss.

Her hand moved through his hair, tugging it gently, forcing him closer to her, bringing his lips harder into hers. She moaned against his mouth, tongue flicking around experimentally.

He felt stiff against her movements, like he was frozen there, because they hadn’t gone further than cuddling and spooning sometimes on the bad nights, and here she was, crossing boundaries.

She did it all the time, like the first time she held his hand or convinced him to give her a piggyback, or that time on boat when she told him she loved him, and there she was, doing it all over again; making him feel alive, making him feel more loved than he ever had.

Now, he moves about the home that almost slipped so easily through their fingers like grains of sand, and makes her breakfast or chases her around when she sticks her tongue out at him.

It isn’t much but it’s theirs and when they fall asleep each night, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Murphy can’t help but pinch himself, he knows she does it too sometimes, because even though this feels so real, they can’t believe how lucky they are.

He used to feel so blind, so separated from the world, that when Harper came into his life, or the night she caught him trying to leave turned to weeks spent running away together, he didn’t let himself grow attached, didn’t let himself slip up once, but she did.

On the fifth night, she reached for his hand in the dark, voice hushed beneath a whisper. “On the Ark,” she had admitted, teeth chewing down on her bottom lip, tearing at the skin. “I got arrested for prostituting myself off. My mom died when I was young and my dad wasn’t the same after so I had to, for food and stuff. I still remember it, Mount Weather too, but—“

For part of the time, he ignored her, just kept a careful eye on her when they entered unfamiliar territory or there was a loud sound, but that time, she had his full attention.

“I remember them touching me and breathing in my neck, trying to find warmth in me when I couldn’t find it in myself. I-I told Monroe I killed someone, like that’s worse than having sex with strangers to look after myself.”

“You did what you had to,” he had replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze without a second thought. “I would’ve.”

“Yeah, I guess,” was her feeble reply, words muttered underneath her breath, head lowered sheepishly. “But not everyone would have done that, Murphy—“

“My name’s John.”

A small smile worked its way upon her face, her eyes fluttering over to him. “Not everyone would have done that, John, not what I did. I-“ Harper’s gaze met his, intensity burning deep within her brown hues. “I sold myself and I think that maybe my body wasn’t the only thing I gave away, yeah?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

And he did, not entirely, but partly.

She continued to do that all the time, kept giving him little bit of information from her life, from her favourite teddy bear to how she had never really felt complete until she had her gun in her hands- and she would hold him close against her one night and tell him that she no longer needed a gun to feel whole, she had him- and he would nod his head or offer a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘okay’ in reply.

There, in the home they built with wet hair and swollen limbs, they were infinitely happy, more than either could remember ever being in their life, especially side-by-side.

You can’t make homes out of human beings but when she whisper’s ‘I love you’ in the dead of night, it sure sounds a hell of a lot like home.

**Author's Note:**

> High-five for my first Harphy fic! I'm probably going to spam the entire Harper/Murphy tag with these so just prepare yourself for that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, please leave a kudos or a comment if you do. Your kindness is always appreciated.


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